Summary: A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Lord Voldemort is a very bad man.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.
Warnings: Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Now rated M.
Author's Note: Stormy last night, power went out, couldn't post. The fates are against me, it seems. Hmm… isn't it amazing how it takes me twenty-five chapters to get through four months, and then one chapter to get through... five? Wow. Go pacing… Yes, we have reached that magical time where the Tom/Harry relationship is where it is supposed to be, which means the only thing left to do is for Voldemort to be naughty (what kind of Harry Potter fic doesn't have that?). Have fun reading the almost last chapter! Yup, only one more to go, ladies and gents!

Chapter Twenty-Six: A Series of Unfortunate Events

Harry gasped loudly as his eyes snapped open. His scar burned. He had forgotten to clear his mind before sleeping, and had witnessed Lord Voldemort plotting. At least it wasn't a first-person view, though, he thought with relief. Occlumency had protected him that far.

He had to admit that he was glad he had allowed himself to get such a glimpse of Lord Voldemort. Voldemort was making preparations for… something… some plan… and he was talking about Tom, whose head was still resting on his chest, assuredly sleeping now.

Harry knew he wouldn't be getting back to sleep any time soon, so he gently lifted Tom's head from his chest and grabbed a pillow to lay it on. Disentangling their limbs took more time, but he managed to extricate himself without waking the sleeping boy. The memories he had witnessed came back to him as he watched Tom sleep. Love you, Tom.

The thought startled him so much that he shuddered. He realized it should not surprise him; Dumbledore had mentioned love, and Harry knew, deep down, that Dumbledore hadn't used the word flippantly. He did love Tom; it had come on so gradually that he had hardly noticed at first. There was not one single moment he could pin down as the point when caring turned into something more, but it had, and there it was, a feeling burgeoning in his chest as he watched Tom's still form in the dark room.

Harry's stomach growled so loudly that he looked at Tom in panic, expecting him to wake up, but he did not. They hadn't eaten all day. May as well sneak down and grab some food, he decided. He walked slowly across the room, opened the door, and closed it with a short, quiet click. When he heard voices carrying up from downstairs, he quickened his pace as he walked to the kitchen.

When the kitchen door swung open, Harry saw Ron and Hermione sitting next to each other near the door. Their discussion had ceased when he came in. 'Sorry, am I interrupting?' Harry said.

'Harry, where have you been all day?' Hermione hissed. 'What happened? Mrs. Weasley went up to your room in the afternoon looking furious and then came down telling us not to bother you.'

'Tom and I were talking,' Harry replied. 'It got a little intense.'

'There's some leftovers for you over there,' Ron indicated with his thumb.

'Thanks.'

Harry sat down and began eating ravenously while Ron and Hermione stared. Finally, Ron said, 'So, uh, when's the wedding?'

Harry looked up at him with raised eyebrows. 'Wedding?'

'Ron!' Hermione scolded, elbowing him in the side. 'Really, Harry, it's not our business, but you do spend an awful lot of time with him.'

'Do you mind?' Harry asked, honestly concerned. 'It's not like I want to lose you as friends…'

'I think it's hard,' Hermione said, without bitterness but with a distinct longing in her voice, 'for friendships to stay the same forever. It's only natural for a significant other to become more important to you than we are. Of course we're still friends, Harry, but this changes things.'

'And you two are more than friends now,' Harry pointed out.

Ron and Hermione both blushed. 'Why are you blushing?' Harry asked with a trace of annoyance in his voice. 'It's stupid. I don't see why you don't let everyone know about the two of you like Tom and I have.'

'She's not your mum,' Ron grumbled.

This comment made Harry angry. Perhaps it was because Mrs. Weasley had left him and Tom alone that day and he was feeling tender toward her for that, or maybe it was because he knew how much he would give to have a mother like her and how much Tom had ached for one. 'She likes Hermione!' Harry protested. 'She's not your enemy, Ron. Grow up.' He stood up from the table, and Hermione and Ron both looked at him in shock. 'Stop being children. You've known each other for years and you know you're great for each other. Why beat around the bush if you know you're in love? For all you know, one or both of you could drop dead tomorrow, and then where would you be? Wouldn't you regret this… this…'

'Timidity?' Hermione squeaked.

'Yeah, that's it – timidity. I've had to watch the pair of you dancing around each other since at least fourth year. Couldn't you at least make some kind of schedule for when you intend to get married and have ten kids? At least it won't be front-page news,' he grumbled.

'Harry!' Ron choked.

'Never mind,' Harry sighed, sitting down again and putting his head in his hands. 'I'm sorry. It's not my place to rush you. It's just that you both drive me crazy.'

'It's a private matter, Harry,' Hermione said gently.

'Sorry,' he muttered.

'Nah,' Ron grinned. 'Don't be. You're right, even if it's none of your business. I should tell mum. Even if she kills me, it'll take some heat off you and Tom.'

'Ron!' Hermione gasped.

'Hermione, you're not really worried about mum, are you? She'll be thrilled. She loves you, and so do I.'

Hermione went teary-eyed. 'Ron,' she smiled happily. 'I… I love you, too.'

'I'll just sod off, then, shall I?'

'Yeah, mate, that would be great.'

Harry put his dishes on the counter and walked out of the room.

The visit to Grimmauld Place had been positive in many ways. Harry had finally opened up about the Prophecy to Tom; Tom, while still struggling with the memories that had come back to him, did not have nightmares night after night anymore, and Harry knew he would gradually come to terms with what he had seen. He hadn't cried again, but he would go very quiet; Harry was always there with him, though, and he'd draw him out eventually to talk. Ron and Hermione had spoken to Ron's mum, and Ron was right – Mrs. Weasley was very happy with the match – and the two of them were no longer so timid of holding hands or whispering intimately to each other. Harry was almost as happy for him as he was for himself.

The journey back to Hogwarts was pleasant on all sides; Tom would occasionally dip into reticence, but Harry knew he was feeling better and that going over his thoughts in his Pensieve was helping, and he managed to snap him out of any dark moments with a well-placed word or a hand on his shoulder. He just needs to know someone cares about him, Harry thought protectively. He just needs to see that he's not alone and that I'm not going to leave him, no matter what our history or future may be. He chuckled at his own sentimental thoughts, knowing that if he said any of it to Tom he'd get scolded for being gushy. But he'd be smiling while he told me off, Harry grinned to himself. Tom still wasn't entirely comfortable about emotions, but Harry had managed to drag an 'I love you,' out of him through intense tickling.

Of course, not everyone was as happy as Harry.

'Blimey, Harry, what're yeh thinkin'? At first I just thought it was Rita Skeeter spreadin' her lies again, but now yer saying yeh –'

'Yes, Hagrid,' Harry cut in, putting down his tea. Hagrid had just returned from his mission for Dumbledore, and this was the first time Harry had been to visit him in his hut that school year because of Tom, and they were already arguing. 'I love him. I don't expect you to ever like him or forgive him for what he did to you –'

'And I never will!'

'– but that doesn't change my feelings for him.'

Hagrid gave up remarkably quickly after that. 'Well, Harry, if he makes yeh happy, then I'll try ter accept it. Dumbledore seems ter think it's all right an' all. But if tha' little –'

'Hagrid,' Harry warned.

Hagrid sighed. 'Right. Well, if he does cause yeh any trouble, yeh just come ter me, an' I'll take care of him for yeh.'

He smiled. 'Thanks, Hagrid. I'll keep that in mind.' Or not.

The day-to-day lives of the denizens of Hogwarts were affected very little by the less than shocking announcement that Harry and Tom were officially an item, as were Hermione and Ron – Harry wasn't the only one who had seen that coming for years. There were a few nasty jokes from the Slytherins, but Harry found that he could ignore them easily, especially when Tom took such pleasure in setting Malfoy's robes on fire and blaming it on Malfoy spilling Firetongue Powder on himself. He let Tom get revenge for all of them since he thrived on such conflict and was always able to escape punishment in that slippery way of his. Too clever by half, Harry thought.

Tom hardly mentioned the subjects of his old nightmares any more. He slept peacefully every night; there were some nights when Harry found himself envying him. Harry, taking fewer classes than Tom, found himself bogged down by work as exams drew nearer and often wasn't finished until well after midnight. Tom helped where he could, but the simple fact was that Harry just wasn't as smart as Tom, so he had to work harder.

Tom was at least spending his free time on less disturbing subjects than the Dark Arts, to Harry's immense relief – and curiosity. That wasn't to say he didn't still read more than his fair share in the subject, but Harry had discovered a surprising amount of the books he read to be about tamer things like Divination. 'You'd be surprised,' Tom said, 'at what a wealth of material has been written on the subject since my day. Divination sources can also have a lot to say about Time Magic, which I find myself bizarrely interested in,' he smirked. Tom still hadn't found out anything about why or how he was there, but Harry, personally, didn't care in the slightest about the whys anymore. He was so deliriously happy that Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas had taken to making gagging motions when he wasn't looking – not that Harry minded, since he knew neither of them meant it seriously.

The only real issue that had sprouted up with his roommates had been solved by Tom gagging himself with his pillow at particular moments at Harry's polite suggestion. Harry still wasn't sure why Seamus, Dean and Neville had brought this concern up with him instead of Tom; he thought it might have something to do with the fact that Neville had borne weekly witness to the horrors Tom could inflict on Draco Malfoy and probably didn't feel comfortable with the idea of ordering him around personally. Other than that, they hadn't been bothered about having two homosexual roommates – though none of them were too keen to walk around without pants on in the dorm around either of them, which was fine by Harry, because he didn't much like the idea of Tom seeing them.

Tom and Harry's relationship operated smoothly and joyfully until mid-February, at which time their differences of temperament were brought to the fore by the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff.

Harry was flying down to the pitch with the Snitch in his left hand to the excited shouts of the Gryffindor side. Tom was flying down casually nearby, giving him the thumbs-up and grinning. The noise of the crowd dimmed in his ears as Harry watched him; Tom was giving him an alarmed look now, but Harry didn't know why. 'You're going to hit the ground!' Tom yelled; Harry looked away from him and saw that he was very close to the ground and going very fast; he pulled up just in time, blushing slightly with embarrassment at his distraction. No one else had noticed, at least, though it was bad enough for Tom to be walking toward him, shaking his head.

Someone tapped Harry's shoulder from behind him. Harry jumped and turned around; there was a small man wearing a bowler hat and clipboard smiling at him. 'Mr. Potter,' the man said cheerfully. 'That was a fine bit of flying I just witnessed. You're a superb Seeker. Best I've seen since Viktor Krum, and believe me,' – the man chuckled – 'I've seen quite a few.' His eyes flew up to Harry's scar, and Harry flattened his fringe out of habit.

'Thanks,' Harry said. He looked around and noticed the rest of the team keeping their distance. The cheering had quieted down, too.

'Could we go somewhere private to talk, perhaps?' the man asked. 'Name's Wilson, Horace Wilson, by the way,' he added, shaking Harry's hand and leading him away with a slight pressure on his back.

'Tell me, Mr. Potter – can I call you Harry? – Harry, have you ever considered a career in the League?'

They spoke for a half hour. The man was a recruiter for the British League, and what he had seen of Harry's Seeking ability had made an impression on him. He gave Harry several forms to fill out if he was interested and a wizarding sort of business card that shouted out phrases like 'Reach for the stars!' and 'Be famous!' That last phrase didn't sit well with Harry, but other aspects of what he had heard definitely did. 'You'd be traveling over all of England,' the man had said, 'and even the world! You'd be staying at the best hotels, meeting new people, and spending most of your days flying! You say the word, Mr. Potter, and it's all yours.' Harry didn't know what could possibly be more fun than all that, and he was whistling to himself happily as he entered the common room.

The uproar was even greater than it usually was after Gryffindor won a Quidditch match. It sounded as if the whole of the House had shown up and was clapping, shouting and cat-calling all at once. Ron grabbed him on the shoulders, beaming. 'You got recruited! You got recruited! You're going to be a professional Quidditch player, Harry!'

Harry beamed back at him, and Ron led him to a chair, where everyone gathered round to hear exactly what the recruiter had said, word for word, which was difficult when they were stuffing Butterbeer, pastries and Honeydukes chocolate into his hands. They had him so well distracted, in fact, that he didn't even realize who was missing for a full hour.

'Where's Tom?' Harry asked.

Ron blinked. 'Isn't he here?' He looked around, but he couldn't see him any more than Harry could. 'Maybe he's just got homework to do,' Ron shrugged.

'Yeah,' Harry said, trying to force the idea into his brain, but it just wouldn't stick down. 'Yeah, you must be right.'

Harry convinced – or deluded – himself into thinking this for another half hour until he was full to bursting with sweets and excitement. He imagined himself making it onto the English national team, playing in the World Cup, catching the Snitch, cheers erupting around him… The others built on his thoughts by giving them voice, making preorders for Harry Potter figurines and arguing with each other over which Quidditch team Harry should join. Ron swore he would attend every game Harry played, even if he had to go to Lithuania. Seamus was begging him to let him into the legendary parties he had heard of ('And they even get Veela dancers sometimes after really important games,' Seamus said blissfully.)

Then the portrait hole opened and the only Gryffindor not already celebrating returned with a pile of books in his arms. 'Tom,' Harry shouted. 'Hey, Tom, come over here, you're missing the party! Put those books down, why don't you?'

Tom looked toward him, taking in the scene of people crowded around Harry with Butterbeer and snacks, all relaxed and laughing, with a look of such loathing that Harry nearly slid out of his seat at the sight. The room quieted at once, and Harry was reminded of the atmosphere when Snape walked into his classroom for lessons. Then Tom turned away and walked up the stairs, straight-backed and regal even with all the books he was carrying.

People slowly started talking again, but the laughter was more forced than before – Tom wasn't Snape, he was a Dementor, and he had sucked Harry's happiness away most efficiently. 'Don't worry, Harry,' Hermione whispered anxiously. 'I'm sure Tom wasn't really so mad at you, he's probably just had a long night studying. I know what that's like.'

'He could at least pretend not to be jealous,' Ron said loudly. Several people nodded in agreement.

'He's not jealous,' Harry grunted. The mere idea of Tom being jealous of him was insane. Hermione seemed to agree, for she gave Ron a quelling look of disapproval.

Harry found that the butter tarts he'd had weren't sitting too well with him now, and he refused all other food and drink offered to him. He slouched in his seat, and as the party continued around him, growing slowly back into the fervor it had been before Tom's arrival, Harry grew increasingly tired of it. 'I'm going upstairs,' He muttered to Ron abruptly, walking away too quickly for anyone to protest or block his way.

When he reached the dormitory, his eyes fell immediately onto Tom's closed curtains. 'Tom?' he said. No answer. 'Tom, talk to me,' he pleaded.

The curtains open, and Tom swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge. 'Are you finished fantasizing now? Ready to wake up to reality?' he hissed, snapping his fingers twice.

'What are you talking about?' Harry asked defiantly.

'Wake up, Harry,' Tom sighed in exasperation. 'You're not seriously considering becoming a Quidditch jock, spending half your life riding around with a piece of wood that doesn't belong to me between your legs, surely?' he smirked.

'Oh, very clever, Tom,' Harry snapped. 'Did you rehearse that?' Tom's face flushed, and his mouth opened slightly to protest, but Harry cut him off. 'I don't know what this is about, but I'd appreciate it if you could stop being a prat and we could just get to the make-up sex.'

Harry knew as soon as they had left his mouth that these were not the right words to say. 'So it hasn't occurred to you,' Tom spat out, 'that Lord Voldemort is unlikely to let you sail around the world on a broomstick chasing little golden balls around? It hasn't occurred to you that he's likely to attack you any time he can – likely to hex you right off your broom?'

'You're just jealous,' Harry growled, his previous assertion that this argument was inane flying out of his head. 'You hate it that I'm better at something than you are, don't you?'

'Don't be an idiot!' Tom shouted. 'As if I'd ever be jealous of you! As if I'd want my brain to move slower than my broomstick!'

'I'd rather be an idiot than be like you!' Harry yelled, reason gone completely from his mind.

'As if I'm going to spend the rest of my life with an idiot Quidditch player who's too stupid to see danger staring him in the face!' Tom hissed.

'Oh yeah? Well, I'm not too chuffed to hang around with an unlovable murdering snake!'

He waited for Tom's response, but no more words came. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and Tom's face turned down to the floor, his fists clenching and unclenching.

Tom walked so fast past Harry he was nearly running. Harry grabbed his arm, but Tom pulled it away heatedly and walked through the door, slamming it in Harry's face. Harry's ire came back full force, and he threw the door open, walking back down the stairs. 'I'm not finished with you!' he yelled, running after Tom's back. 'I'm tired of your moody Slytherin attitude! Come back here and –'

Harry had reached the foot of the stairs, and Tom was climbing through the portrait hole. The common room was still full to bursting, and all eyes were on them. In the moment that Harry took to look back at the staring people, Tom disappeared.

'What was that all about?' Hermione demanded angrily, her cheeks flushed.

'Ouch, Harry. You called him a Slytherin,' Dean cringed.

'He was acting like a prat,' Ron mumbled.

'You should go after him!' Ginny said, her voice sounding a little panicked.

'Let him go,' Harry growled. There were tears building at the corner of his eyes, and he wiped them away in frustration. Idiot Quidditch player, am I? If he doesn't want to be with me, fine!

Hermione walked over and grabbed Harry forcefully by the arm, steering him away from the onlookers and into her own dorm room. She shut the door behind them. 'What were you thinking?' she cried. 'What could he have possibly said to deserve all that?'

'He called me an idiot Quidditch player and said he didn't want us to be together anymore!' Harry snapped, wiping his eyes again.

'So you just walked into the room and he said he wanted to break up with you because you were stupid and you play Quidditch?' she hissed.

'No,' Harry grunted. Tom already knew all that, after all, and he had never minded before. 'He… he told me to wake up, told me to face reality.'

'You mean about Quidditch?' Hermione said. 'You mean he told you the truth?'

'What truth?'

'Harry,' Hermione said sadly. 'You know you can't play Quidditch. It's not fair, but… you can't.'

Harry looked away. 'Couldn't have put it like that, though, could he? Couldn't say it nicely.' Hermione stayed silent. 'He was frustrated with me,' Harry whispered, already understanding the reason for Tom's surliness. 'Thought I was being stupid even thinking about it. He was right.'

'And so you yelled at him?' Hermione prodded disapprovingly.

Harry nodded, his eyes closed. 'Damn it, Hermione, I called him… I said some awful things. Worse than the Slytherin bit you heard.'

'I can't imagine,' she said dryly.

'I've got to go after him,' Harry said, opening the door and striding back to the common room.

No one tried to stop him going to the portrait hole. When he did, however, it wouldn't open. 'What are you doing?' he growled. 'Let me out!'

Just then, a voice boomed into the common room. 'Attention all students!'

It was Dumbledore. 'You are hereby locked into your respective dormitories until further notice. All students outside their dormitories, please go back to them immediately. I repeat, you are hereby…'

'No!' Harry screeched. 'I have to get out!'

'Harry,' Hermione whispered in his ear. 'The Map! You can find out where he is, and maybe we'll see what's going on!'

Harry turned to her, nodded through teary eyes, and ran upstairs.

Tom could barely see where he was going through the tears blurring his vision, but he knew the way out of the castle well enough to get out blindly. It was one of the few times that he just couldn't think; the weight of his thoughts was too great a burden for his mind to bear. He kept running through corridors and down stairs, encountering nothing and no one, not even Peeves. He thought he heard a booming voice telling him to go back and thought he must be going mad. Finally, he reached the doors and flung them open, racing toward the Forbidden Forest as fast as his legs could carry him.
As Harry rifled through his belongings to find the Marauder's Map, he was eventually joined by Ron, Hermione, Dean, Neville, Seamus, and Ginny. He found the Map and then, saying 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good!' as quickly as possible, Hogwarts appeared on the parchment. Harry began scanning it desperately for traces of Tom, the others looking over his shoulder.

'There!' Harry said. Tom was moving quickly down a staircase, away from Gryffindor Tower. 'What's he thinking?' Harry cried. 'He should be coming back here!'

'Harry?' Hermione whispered, her voice sounding as desperate as he felt. 'Harry, that's not Tom Maxwell.'

'Huh?'

Then Harry realized, with growing horror, what the name on the parchment was: Tom Riddle. 'What the hell?' Ron demanded. 'That's not possible!'

'It is,' Ginny said softly.

'What are you all going on about?' the other three asked, confused as to what the problem was. 'Why's this Tom Riddle so important?'

'Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort!' Ron growled, forgetting to be fearful of the name in his shock and indignation. 'Harry, what –'

'Shut up!' Harry yelled. He couldn't deal with this right now; they didn't have the time. 'I swear I'll explain it later, but for now just believe me when I say that's the Tom we're looking for. When this is all over I swear I'll explain! Just ignore it for now.'

'Ignore it? How can we –'

'Ron, quiet!' Hermione hissed. They continued to watch the parchment. Tom was running out of Hogwarts and toward the Forest.

'Come on, Harry,' Dean growled. 'So your boyfriend's in a tizzy. Let's look at what the teachers are up to!'

'It's my map!' Harry argued. 'I'll look at what I want to look at, thanks!'

'Harry, we really should try to figure out what's going on. Tom might be in danger,' Hermione reminded him.

'Fine, fine, everyone look for Dumbledore.'

'He's right there!' Neville exclaimed an instant later. 'They're all there,' he added in awe.

It was true. All the teachers were there, their names so crammed together on the map that they could barely be read. Snape, McGonagall, Dumbledore, and the others were heading toward the very exit Tom had just run through, heading off at nearly a run themselves.

'What's going on?' Hermione wondered aloud.

'That's it,' Harry said decisively, handing Ron the Map. 'I'm getting out of here.'

Tom reached the edge of the forest and panted, exhausted from all the running. He fell to his knees and stayed there, staring into the Forbidden Forest with sad eyes. What am I doing? Tom asked himself. I can't leave. I have nowhere to go. But I can't stay here, not if Harry… Tom let out a choked sob and wiped the tears off his face.
They reached the portrait hole again. Ignoring the other students, they started pelting every spell they could think of at it to get it to open. Finally, Hermione said, 'Stand back!' and, whispering a long spell Harry hadn't heard before, she managed to get the portrait hole to open with agonizing slowness.

'What was that?' Ron asked, impressed.

'A spell from one of Tom's books,' she sighed. 'No more questions. Let's go.'

They could hear voices behind them saying 'Wait!' and 'Where are you going?' but the portrait hole closed abruptly behind Neville, and their protests could no longer be heard.

He was shivering with cold. It was windy and the ground was covered in a thick layer of snow, and Tom wasn't wearing a cloak. I should get back to the castle before I freeze to death, he decided. I could go talk to Dumbledore. This thought comforted him more than he would have liked to admit.

Then Tom heard voices behind him. He turned around and saw the entire staff of Hogwarts headed quickly in his direction. At the same moment, the trees rustled, and many beams of light shone through, growing brighter. Tom stood up.

They ran down the hall, Ron holding the Map and reading off what was happening as they went. 'Okay, now the teachers are out of the castle. Tom's still stopped by the edge of the forest, Harry,' he added, panting. He took another look. 'What the –'

Ron stopped dead. The others kept running. 'Harry!' Ron yelled. They all turned around and came back the few feet it took to get to him. Ron's face was white. 'Lucius Malfoy's name just showed up at the edge of the Forbidden Forest… and there's Bellatrix Lestrange… Rabastan Lestrange… Rodolphus Lestrange… Walden Macnair… Antonin Dolohov…' then Ron's voice cracked. 'Tom Riddle – another Tom Riddle.'

Harry turned away from Ron and ran faster, as fast as he could.

Cloaked figures were stepping out of the trees and Tom's eyes widened in surprise and fear. He reached into the pocket of his robes and it was only then that he realized, with mounting horror, that he didn't have his wand. He glanced behind him; the teachers were still coming his way, but the ones in front of him were just ten feet away, there was no way he could run…

They stopped moving when they saw him, their wands giving off light in the darkness. 'Isn't this convenient?' the one in front says. 'Fate is with our Lord tonight, it seems.'

Tom took a step backward.

Ron had stopped giving commentary; they were running too fast. Harry's glasses were slipping down the sweat on his nose. They turned a corner and reached a long hall, and at the end were doors into the grounds.
More cloaked persons were coming from the Forbidden Forest, and the others stepped forward, making way. Tom counted at least two dozen. Whispers of his presence were spreading through the ranks, and the teachers were close, so close… Dumbledore was coming…

The Death Eaters – for that was surely who they were – raised their wands, but did not attack him. They were pointing beyond him at the Hogwarts staff running forward.

The ranks parted. A man was coming through, and he could feel this man's eyes on him, staring into his own, and felt the same piercing pressure of Dumbledore's eyes, but these eyes were fiercer, more demanding. He turned his head, and the pressure ceased, but the man continued to walk forward. 'Bring him here,' the man said in a high-pitched, hissing voice. 'Keep him away from the battle.'

Hands were grabbing him – invisible, magical hands – pushing him forward, toward the man, their leader…

Tom found himself drawn behind the Death Eaters' ranks. One put him in a Full Body-Bind and he fell to the snowy ground, his eyes still wide open and fearful. The man who had spoken before came toward him. He pulled back his hood just as the sound of dozens of spells being shouted out filled the night.

They reached the door and pushed it open, springing forward out of it and continuing their sprint.
'Mulciber, Nott, watch my prize here,' the ugly snake-man indicated Tom, 'while I conclude matters with our dear friend Dumbledore.' The Death Eaters chuckled and moved to Tom, one on each side. So that's Lord Voldemort, Tom thought with disgust. Gross.

At that very moment three nearby Death Eaters were blasted back into the forest right over Tom's head. He couldn't see very well – he was half-buried in snow – but he thought he saw, out of the corner of an eye, the swish of Dumbledore's cloak.

'Dumbledore,' Voldemort hissed. Tom bit his lip and focused, hard, on escaping the Body Bind.

'You will leave, Tom,' Dumbledore shouted over the noisy duels around them.

'I have grown stronger than I was when last we met, Dumbledore!' Voldemort laughed.

'Magical strength is not what will win this battle,' Dumbledore replied loudly.

Then the spells began to fire, and Tom was nearly crying again with frustration. He couldn't hear what was being said; his ears were stuffed with snow and there was too much other noise from the Death Eaters dueling the teachers. He thought he heard a voice, far off, that sounded like Remus Lupin. Reinforcements, he thought with satisfaction.

Two bodies hit the ground beside Tom. There goes my honor guard, he smirked. Tom worked harder than ever to free himself and, in one focused push, he managed to sit up. He could hear much more clearly now, though the strong wind was making him shake as it pushed his soaked robes into his skin.

Ron, Harry, Hermione, Seamus, Dean, Neville and Ginny reached the battle at almost the exact moment that a half-dozen others Apparated to the scene. Harry vaguely recalled that bit in Hogwarts: A History that Hermione harped on about saying that this was impossible, but Harry had never been gladder that she was proven wrong, because Dementors were coming out of the forest now, and Lupin, Tonks and Moody already had Patronuses conjured to charge them back. He looked frantically around for Tom, but he couldn't see him through the Death Eaters and teachers and spells, all flying left and right.

'Stupify!' Harry yelled, hitting a Death Eater who was attacking Professor McGonagall. She looked exhausted and bloody.

'Potter!' McGonagall screeched. 'Get out of here, boy!'

'I have to find Tom!' he shouted. He looked around; his companions were gone. They were already spread out fighting the massive amount of Death Eaters. The Dementors were being pushed back; none had yet left the boundary of the Forbidden Forest. They hovered on the border, darker than shadow, three silvery figures patrolling around them, refusing to let them pass.

'Dumbledore will –'

McGonagall fell to the ground. 'Stupify!' Harry yelled, catching the figure square in the chest. It staggered. 'Stupify!' he cried again, and this time the man fell to the ground, his Shield Charm broken.

The Professor was stirring. Harry hated to leave her, but he needed to find Tom.

And then, through a gap in the duels which were spreading themselves farther out across the grounds, Harry saw a side view of Voldemort, hurtling a beam of green light.

'Avada Kedavra!' Tom heard Voldemort yell.

Dumbledore conjured what looked like an engorged lemon drop out of thin air. The curse hit it and it blasted open, chunks of it flying across the grounds. Dumbledore said another incantation and a tree leaped out of the forest. Its branches were wrapping around Voldemort…

Another spell. The tree snapped back to inanimate, its branches released him, and it was falling, falling on Dumbledore.

'Stupify!' someone yelled at the top of their lungs, approaching from behind Dumbledore. The spell hit the tree, which shuddered and moved back. Voldemort did not use a spell; he stepped out of the way, and the tree kept falling.

It's going to hit me, Tom realized. He still couldn't move his legs – he hadn't been trying, he had been watching the battle – but now he tried hard, begged his legs to move – they seemed bound to the ground, he couldn't even drag them back quickly enough – and the tree fell faster and faster.

What happened next seemed to Harry to occur in slow motion. Dumbledore looked at him as Harry said the spell and ran to Dumbledore's side, and the tree began to fall backward onto Voldemort, but Voldemort just sidestepped it, and then Harry caught a flash of dark hair, a boy seated on the ground, looking at the tree with wide-eyed panic. 'Tom, move!' Harry cried. But Tom was sitting there, struggling to move backward with his arms.

'Conglacio!' Dumbledore's voice called. At the same time, another voice, sounding far-off in Harry's world, which consisted only of Tom and the tree at, said 'Avada Kedavra.'

The tree froze and shattered violently just before hitting the ground, pieces of ice flying across the battlefield. Tom was sitting there, shaken and covered in small ice chunks, but otherwise okay.

Green light blinded Harry's vision. He blinked, and it was over.

Dumbledore was falling; his half-moon spectacles were slipping down his crooked nose. He hit the ground, his fall broken by the snowy ground, and lay there, his eyes staring aimlessly up at the sky.

Albus Dumbledore was dead.

TheSecretCharacter: Enjoy Hawaii, and have fun reading HBP! I know I will!

akuma-river: No sequel planned :( That's not to say I'll never do one, but I don't intend to at the moment.

Virginia Riddle-Malfoy: Voldemort doesn't know, nor would he care if he did. He's incapable of feeling any more hatred towards his father and the rest of humanity, so a few more reasons to hate them wouldn't make much of an impact on him.

ddtrunks77: Perseverance, that's all it takes. I've been spending a looooong time every day writing for over a month now because I really want to finish this, to get it out of my head where this story has been growing (or festering, depending on how you look at it) for months and months. I'm certainly not a professional writer, just a teenager with no life!

As for what Voldemort would do, he wouldn't care about his mother having died to save him that way. It would explain why he survived his own Avada Kedavra bouncing back on him, but he probably wouldn't even believe that was what saved him because the thought of none of his experiments being superior to his mother's love for him would simply be too sickening for him to wrap his evil mind around.

ryuuta: No, I believe that 'power the Dark Lord knows not' is love itself, which he disdains and is incapable of feeling for anyone.